


Monophobia

by Nicola Mody (Vilakins)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-16
Updated: 2005-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilakins/pseuds/Nicola%20Mody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After they discover Blake's greatest fear, Vila and Avon wonder about each other's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monophobia

  


"Half a sec. I'll be through this in no time," Vila said, intent on the inside of a lock. "Y'know, it's a scandal, the sort of security the Federation relies on."

"Vila!" Blake said in an oddly strangled voice.

"Well, you know what I mean. There—finished!" Vila stepped back with a flourish and looked at Blake in surprise. White and shaking, he was staring through the link fence with horror. On the other side, a large guard dog growled softly. "Oh, right. Someone'll have to stun that, I suppose."

"Sorry," Blake said. "It's just that...I've never liked dogs. They're so wild. You can't _talk_ to them."

"You mean manipulate them?" Avon drew his gun and shot the dog; Vila winced.

"And they knew," said Blake softly, no longer talking about dogs. "They find out what frightens you."

For a moment, Vila's eyes focussed on something that wasn't there. Then he took Blake's other arm. "It's all right now," he said gently. "I'll look after you." Just for a change.

* * *

  
"I'd have thought you'd like dogs," Avon said, back on the _Liberator_'s flight deck. "Faithful and devoted beasts, according to all the stories. Well-trained, they're mindlessly obedient and—"

"Just leave it, Avon."

"I like animals myself," said Vila.

"Yes, well, you're closer to one than the rest of us."

Vila ignored Avon. "But I suppose they're sort unknowable really," he said to Blake, trying to understand. "Almost alien."

Blake shook his head. "Neither of you have seen a wild pack bring down a man. I did, on Exbar. And what they did to him."

"Bloody hell," said Vila accurately.

"And," Blake stood up, "that's the last I want to hear about it." He strode out.

"Fine by me." Vila drained his coffee and wished there was something stronger in his mug. He cursed himself for an all-too-vivid imagination.

"I suppose it was on his file," said Avon from close behind him, making Vila jump. "They must have been spoiled for choice in your case."

"Everyone's scared of something."

Avon sat down beside him on the couch. "Indeed? And I wonder what it is for the rest of them. Jenna for example."

Relieved that the spotlight was off him, Vila grinned. "Dunno. Not looking her best?"

"I'd say it's not being able to protect those she cares about. Of which there may be precisely one person on this ship."

"Nah. If she was that worried, she'd be on every mission with Blake."

"You didn't see her face when she thought she saw her mother in the defence system."

"Oh." Vila thought of his own. "Well, that's different. Everyone loves their mother."

Avon's face went expressionless. "An erroneous assumption." He went on, rather quickly, "And for our Auron, it would be dying alone and silent."

"No. She's not afraid of death; you heard what she said to me about it. I'd go for failure myself."

"Yes, well, that rather defines your life." Avon leaned back. "Gan however would seem to disprove your hypothesis. He lacks the imagination to be afraid."

"No, he doesn't," Vila said indignantly. "He'd rather do anything than let people down."

"Not something that has ever bothered you."

That _hurt_. He was still here, wasn't he? Could've bolted ages ago and he he'd never considered it, not even when Avon tried to at that research station. Vila slammed his mug down. "Shows how much you know about it."

"And what about you, Vila? Which of your many fears is the greatest?"

Vila stood up. "Not one _you'd_ ever be able to figure out," he said scornfully and stomped out.

Avon put his hands behind his head and smiled. A challenge, was it? Well, now. This might be fun.

* * *

  
A sudden change in his surroundings awoke him. He opened his eyes to complete blackness.

Vila lay still, frozen in place by shock and fear. What had happened? Where was the comforting soft glow of his nightlight? The darkness was so solid, it almost seemed to press down on him.

He hated the dark, ever since he was a kid and imagined all sorts of things from books, vidshows, and his own head lurking in the shadows or under his bed. His mother, a practical woman who had never really got the point of fiction, had just laughed at him but that couldn't stop his mind from running out of control.

Being repeatedly locked in a wardrobe by her boyfriend hadn't helped much, and neither had the juvenile detention wards where the bullies liked frightening the younger kids after lights-out. Or prison where you were never sure what sort of low-life, human or otherwise, was out to get you.

Vila got carefully out of bed, his eyes uselessly open as wide open as possible, and slid his feet across the floor, his hands out in front of him—after all, you couldn't count on things being where they were meant to be if you couldn't _see_ them—till they encountered the wall. Keeping them on it, he moved sideways until he bumped into his chest of drawers. Feeling around, he found his kit on top, and located a probe with a small light on the end.

He only realised when he turned it on that he'd been holding his breath. The little light dimly revealed his familiar cabin, unchanged and comforting except for his own wavering, monstrous shadow.

He headed for the door, and paused. What if it was as dark out there? What if things had gone catastrophically wrong and it was even worse: the rest of the ship was full of aliens or vacuum? He drew in a deep breath and opened the door—to dazzling brightness.

"Are you all right, Vila?"

"Avon!" Vila had never been happier to see him. "You're a sight for sore eyes!"

"I shall take that as a compliment." Avon fiddled with the junction box he had open. "There, done."

"What's going on? My light—"

"Went out, yes. There was a circuit fault. It should be fixed now."

"Right." Vila checked his cabin; the usual soft, warm light glowed from the ceiling, just enough to see by. "Thanks. I'll go back to bed then."

 

Avon leaned thoughtfully against the wall. Vila had looked startled and nervous, but he'd had his tools in his hand and determination on his face; nothing like the debilitating fear Blake had showed.

Very well. He would try again.

 

"Zen?" Vila said sleepily. "Can you set up some sort of backup circuit in case the lights fail again?"

"There is such a circuit. There was no failure."

"There wasn't?" Vila sat up in bed.

"Kerr Avon disconnected both circuits temporarily."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Vila angrily punched his pillow into shape and lay down again. Two could play that game. Well, perhaps it wasn't the best idea to retaliate in kind given what he thought were Avon's fears, but he could certainly annoy the hell out of him.

* * *

  
Vila grinned to himself. Avon undoubtedly had a clever password, but why bother to try to work it out when you could just bypass that section and convince the security system you knew it? He closed the door behind him and looked curiously around Avon's cabin.

It was as neat and clean as Vila's (he had learned long ago that spaces looked bigger that way) but there was something obsessive about the way Avon had lined up everything on his table, exactly parallel to and all the same distance from the edges. Ah-hah! Vila opened the flat, gleaming metal toolbox and looked inside. Yes, everything was neatly in its place as you'd expect in a professional; Vila's tools were just as carefully arranged. He took a probe and put it under the table against the wall, then, dissatisfied with such a simple move, thought for a moment. _Ah, yes._

That would do for now. Grinning, he let himself out.

 

Avon frowned at the tool he held. That wasn't his number seven probe. It was, in fact, the stylus of his datapad. Puzzled, he opened his pad but the groove where the stylus usually lay was empty, even of number seven probes.

He thought back to where and when he'd last used it: two or three days ago, here. But then it would be packed away with the others. Wait—had he used it to break the lighting circuit to Vila's cabin? No, just the four and five, but perhaps he'd absent-mindedly put it in his pocket. He got up and checked the tunic and trousers he'd worn yesterday—nothing. Had he left it somewhere else in his cabin or on the flight deck or even—worrying thought—inside his latest project, the detector shield?

It was almost an hour before he thought to look on the cabin floor and even then, he almost didn't see it nestled right up against the wall like that. He sat down and tapped it against his nose. When had he dropped it? Why hadn't he noticed it wasn't there when he'd finished working and put his tools away? And what on earth had possessed him to put the stylus there instead? It was a small mental lapse, but disturbing all the same.

* * *

  
"Right, Vila. Hold that relay open while I check the reading."

"I've got it," said Vila, crouched inside the bowels of the long-range sensor system.

"Hmm. I'll have to make an adjustment." Avon closed the access hatch.

"Hey!"

"The door was in my way." Avon sat himself against it so that Vila couldn't push it open. "All right in there?" he asked casually.

_Bastard_, Vila thought. He'd never liked small places ever since that damned wardrobe, but he'd learned to deal with it; thieves and prisoners had to. "Yeah, fine. Quite cosy, really, except for the sharp sticky-out bits. Take your time."

Avon heard the strain in his voice, but it was hardly panic. He smiled despite himself and opened the hatch. "All right, close that relay and come on out. I have the data I need."

* * *

  
Vila stood in the middle of Avon's cabin, wondering what he'd do this time. Avon had looked distinctly and satisfyingly annoyed with himself yesterday. It was time to drop another spanner.

He crossed to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Neatly folded handkerchiefs and—he laughed—a stud press and spare studs, the different sizes each in a separate compartment. The next drawer held folded underpants, sorted into different coloured piles: black, grey, russet, white. The one below that was full of socks, all laid side-by-side in pairs, each with the top of one turned over both to keep them together. Vila was about to close that drawer too when he noticed that there was a number or letter woven into the sole of each one.

Bloody hell. Avon had numbered socks. Course, he could see the logic; each pair would get the same wear. Amused, Vila noticed there were two rows of eight each (if you counted the gap for the pair Avon was wearing), numbered from 0 to F. Vila sniggered. Hexadecimal!

He considered nicking a pair and closing the gap, but then he had a better idea.

 

Avon was about to put his socks on when he noticed something odd. Number 9? He'd put them down the wash chute last night and then promptly away after their automatic return. Today ought to be B. He padded back to the drawer and prodded at the socks lined up there.

That was odd. They were in order, but from right to left instead of left to right. He always did them left to right. Didn't he? Of course he did; that was the way numbers _went_. Bemused, he replaced 9 and took out B.

He sat down on the bed, no longer quite sure, and put pair B on. Then he resolutely put the whole thing out of his mind and thought about Vila. Yes, he was obviously scared of the dark and small places, but equally obviously he could handle it. Neither would account for his haunted expression just before he'd taken Blake's arm.

He'd claimed claustrophobia on the _London_, but perhaps it wasn't that at all. The opposite perhaps: vacuum on the other side of the crawl space? Not standard agoraphobia anyway; Vila didn't mind being outside on the surface. Or would claustrophobia only work it there was no way out, even for a thief of Vila's skills? That would be difficult to arrange. The thing was, Avon thought as he pulled on his boots (unnumbered), real fear wouldn't be conquered as easily as the ones Vila was so vocal about. Real fear out-trumped that of death; one heard of people spacing themselves rather than stay in a blazing spaceship where they might possibly have a chance.

Now that gave him an idea. The more he thought about it the better he liked it. It would offer Vila not only a buffet of fears to choose from, but also a small space even he couldn't escape. Avon felt a twinge of guilt, but he was intrigued; Vila had been so certain he wouldn't work out what it was that most frightened him.

He stood up and went to see Blake. For it to work properly, he'd have to know.

 

This time it was light and noise that woke Vila rather than sudden darkness. He sat bolt upright, startled by the siren and blinking at the flashing lights.

"What the hell—"

"Information," said Zen over the ship-wide comms. "Massive meteor breach of the hull implies life support failure within five minutes."

Vila narrowed his eyes. Another little personal entertainment from Avon? "Oh, yeah? Pull the other one."

"Please specify object and required action."

"Eh? Look. I don't believe you."

Zen had been well-instructed. "Evacuation is advised in the event of major hull breach. The ship would be opened to space to facilitate repair and internal bulkheads will not hold against vacuum."

"And I don't think that little ploy holds much water either."

 

In his cabin, listening on all internal comms channels, Avon grinned in appreciation, both of Vila's acuity and Zen's refusal to tell a lie.

 

"Water," said Zen, "will not help against electrical fire."

"Don't suppose it will," said Vila, lying down again. "The vacuum should get that though." He pulled the blankets over his head to drown out the light and noise

 

Avon laughed out loud, shaking his head. It seemed he'd overplayed his hand earlier.

* * *

  
"Into the pods, hurry!" said Blake.

Gan hesitated. "Where's Vila?"

"Avon will look after him."

Gan frowned. Are you sure?"

"Yes, he said so. Hurry, man!"

Looking worried, Gan opened the door of his pod and reluctantly got in.

"Cally?"

Cally was looking back down the corridor, her head on one side as if listening.

"Someone must live to fight on, Cally."

"Yes." Cally gave Blake a searching look, then smiled faintly. "All right." She got into her pod.

"You next, Jenna."

"After you."

"I'm in command, Jenna. That's an order."

Jenna folded her arms. "And this is my ship."

"Oh come on, going up with the ship is just for songs and vidshows."

Jenna set her jaw.

Blake sighed. Why was it always so hard with this lot? "It's a drill. Avon and I set it up."

Jenna scowled. "Without telling me?"

"It wouldn't be much of a drill in that case, would it?"

Jenna slammed the door of her pod as hard as she could, but the seals thwarted her as it closed with a soft _chunk_.

Blake's pod was the last to eject. As he hung there in space beside the _Liberator_ he decided to give them all a stern lecture on the necessity to evacuate without stopping to argue.

 

"I'll get him for ruining my sleep two nights in one week," Vila grumbled. It occurred to him that Blake would not be impressed if he was woken up too. He got out of bed and activated the cabin comms. "Blake? There some sort of emergency?"

There was no answer.

Vila hit the ship-wide comms button. "Blake! Blake!" Vila could just hear the siren's wail. He bit his lip, beginning to get nervous. "Zen? Where's Blake?"

"Roj Blake is no longer on the ship."

"What!" Vila was already out the door and running. "What about the others?"

"Jenna Stannis, Cally of Auron, and Olag Gan are no longer on the ship."

Vila skidded to a halt. "Oh, no. Oh, please, no."

They'd gone off and left him. He was all alone.

Vila froze.

 

_Ah_, Avon thought, hearing the terror in Vila's whimper. _Got you._

 

Wait—Zen hadn't mentioned Avon. "Where's Avon?"

"Kerr Avon is in his cabin."

Vila let out his breath and closed his eyes briefly, sagging against the wall. There was still someone here. But hang on, why hadn't Avon left though? He did sometimes have insomnia; perhaps he'd taken something for it. Vila stood still, thinking fast. He only had a short time to get to the pods, but he'd be alone. If he went back for Avon, they might both die, but at least he'd be with someone and for that matter he wouldn't have nightmares for the rest of his life about leaving Avon in the lurch. Whatever that was.

He ran.

 

Avon was considering going to look for Vila when there was a pounding on his door. Ah. That narrowed it down: vacuum or claustrophobia.

"Avon, Avon! Wake up!"

What, no lock-picking? Avon opened the door.

Vila, his face ashen, grabbed Avon's arm and tugged at him. "Quick, we've got to get to the escape pods!"

He was wrong. It was just normal fear of death. And Vila had, despite that, come to get him.

"Vila." Avon gripped Vila's shoulders. "It's all right. It's just a drill."

Vila's knees gave. "You bastard, Avon."

"I'm sorry," Avon said sincerely, guiding Vila to a chair. "Here." He poured a glass of brandy and put it in Vila's shaking hands.

Vila sipped it, his shoulders hunched, his eyes not meeting Avon's.

Avon looked at him, unsure what to say. Would he have gone back for Vila? He wasn't at all sure he would. He got out another glass. "You aren't quite the coward you make yourself out to be," he said, pouring himself a drink. "Coming back for me like that despite how frightened you were."

Vila blinked at him, startled. "Oh, uh, yes." He held out his glass and Avon refilled it. "Not bad, this."

"The best Destinian." _And the least I could offer under the circumstances._

Vila turned the blue and green glass in his hands. "This from there too? It's pretty." He traced the swirling pattern with a finger. "Look, can we stop this game now?"

"When did you guess?"

"The first time."

"I'm surprised you didn't retaliate."

"I did."

Avon stared at Vila. "You—ah. The probe and the socks." He sat back, smiling in appreciation. "Very subtle, but it was hardly one of my fears."

"Well, given what those are, I didn't particularly want to have a go at them."

"Oh? Do tell."

Vila smiled faintly. "Not sure, but I can make a good guess. You were let down in that bank job and you hate trusting people, so betrayal. Or maybe being forced to rely on other people. You're a genius, so having your memory wiped like Blake—and knowing you have—or losing your mind."

Avon sat still for a moment, then picked up his glass. "You may be right," he said. "Actually you made a fair effort on the last."

"I did?" Vila grinned. "And I was only trying to annoy you."

Avon stood up. "I suppose we'd better reel the others in and tell them the drill was a success."

Vila pulled a face. "Except for me."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Avon gave Vila one of his most dazzling smiles.

 

Vila hummed to himself as he got ready for bed. For a moment there, he'd thought Avon had guessed how afraid Vila was of being alone. It was a relief he hadn't. Much better to hide it and let everyone know about the little fears he could handle instead. No point in giving anyone a hold over him, was there?

He got into bed, poured himself a glass of brandy, opened his bookpad, and made himself comfortable. This kind of aloneness was all right; you knew your friends weren't far away. And that included old Avon. Vila had seen the warmth in his eyes, and besides, he'd come round later and given Vila the open bottle and a glass, and that Destinian stuff was expensive; Vila knew he only had one more bottle left.

He snuggled happily into his piled-up pillows, book in one hand and jewel-bright glass in the other. The universe wasn't too bad at times.

* * *

  
It was only right to return the Destinian glass. Vila let himself into Avon's cabin and put it down on the table, rather regretfully; it really was a thing of beauty. "Cheers, mate," he said softly and left.

 

Avon found the glass after his shift. He shook his head, amused. Vila had been here again. What had he done this time?

 

Three weeks later, Avon still hadn't found anything.

But he wasn't going to admit defeat.

The end

  



End file.
